


Clean.

by sgtbucketbarnes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Bucky, F/M, he's dealing with other people's expectations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17087402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtbucketbarnes/pseuds/sgtbucketbarnes
Summary: Bucky isn’t good at communicating but once he can get the picture in his mind in front of him, he finds the words to tell you how he feels.





	Clean.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I came up with for theimpossibleg1rl on tumblr's writing challenge! It’s inspired by that prompt, the picture below (which I found on google btw) and Clean by Taylor Swift (which was on repeat the entire time I wrote this). I wouldn’t call it my best work but I’m not mad at it so that’s an improvement from where I’ve been, writing wise.
> 
> Prompt: “It’s absolutely gorgeous.. What inspired you, if you don’t mind me asking?” “You.”

Bucky wasn’t too good at communication. He wanted to be, God, did he want to be. It just didn’t come as easy to him as he would like. He could never find the words. Nothing sounded like he meant it to when he finally got it out of his mouth

So he found other ways to express what he wanted to say. Sometimes it was small acts of service. Bringing Natasha a coffee as a thank you for saving his butt during the last mission. Sometimes it was gifts. Sheepishly handing Steve a new sketchbook. Sometimes it was quality time. Holing up with Tony in his lab for a couple days, learning about whatever new tech he was working on and making sure he doesn’t go too long without sleep.

But it didn’t seem to be any of those with you. Sure, he would do little things for you here and there and you would spend time watching Disney movies huddled together under soft blankets, but it always felt like best friend things. Not Bucky trying to communicate something to you. You tried not to think about it too much, knowing he’d find a way when he was ready. Hoping you’d realize it for what it was when the time came. Trusting that you would. You decided to keep your own feelings to yourself until he was comfortable.

It wasn’t just telling others how he felt that he struggled with, processing his own emotions proved to be a feat itself. He’d tried so many things, every suggestion given to him, really. Journaling. Yoga. Music. Hiking. He finally found his voice in painting. Mixing colors and strokes on a canvas, finally seeing the pictures in his head in front of his eyes. He had spent the last several months pouring himself into his works, and when he told the group that his paintings were going to be presented in a small gallery in Brooklyn, under a false name, everyone was ecstatic.

Opening night, everyone made an appearance, and after some time convincing Tony, it was agreed that it would remain a quiet evening. Bucky stood back as the small crowds came through and admired and complimented his pieces. When he saw you in front of his favorite, off in the corner, he made his way over.

You felt him approach and without looking his way, commented  **“It’s absolutely gorgeous.. What inspired you, if you don’t mind me asking?”**

**“You.”**

You turned your head suddenly to look at his profile, jaw clenched, eyed trained forward and locked on the canvas. He was making an effort.

“Do you know what it was like for me when we met? It was like I didn’t have to put on layer after layer. Make myself into something people wanted to see. Another Captain America. Steve really went through it, and I’m not knocking that. But he doesn’t have the same experience. I have to make up for what they turned me into and then live up to the standard Steve set. He has battles and trails. But he doesn’t have the same memories, the same nightmares, the same… scars. But the world doesn’t want see scars. They saw a man fresh out of the ice ready to fight for them, no hesitation or questions. Steve didn’t do things during those 70 years. Didn’t do things that haunt him every day. Every time he blinks or catches a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye. I don’t hold it against him or blame him for any of it. The world just has a perception, perspective, of what I should be like and I face consequences if I don’t give them that.” He let out a shaking sigh, still not meeting your eye, stubborning staring ahead of you at the canvas on the wall.

“But then… you. You came in and didn’t see me for who I used to be, who I was supposed to be, or what I had been made into. You just saw the me I was trying to be. With you, all those layers and walls washed away and it was like I could breathe again. I was just… me.” He finally turned his head and looked at you, the tears threatening spill over his eyes matching yours. “And when I came up for air, when you gave me a reason to, I was clean. I still have cracks and scars, but the dirt and grime and smoke damage is gone. And I can’t thank you enough for that.” He moved to wrap his hands around you, pulling you close to him, your eyes unmoving from each other.

“Buck. I-I love you. More than anything.” you declared shakily.

“I love you.” he whispered into the small space between you, almost desperately. “I love you.”

Your hand cupped his cheek and gently pulled him down for a searing, tear stained kiss. “I love you”s getting jumbled in between your lips over and over again.

It was just you and your Bucky. Soft kisses and gentle hands and watery eyes and forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are deeply appreciated! You can check out more of my writing at puppy-bucky on tumblr :)


End file.
